Tag Archive: nostalgia

Datsun Cogs

You won't find Datsun Cogs in here, well, there may be a few

You won’t find Datsun Cogs in here, well, there may be a few

Yes, we have been promised Datsun Cogs for the weekend, more likely Sunday than Saturday, although the sky is grey this morning with the sun bravely trying.

Datsun Cogs is a phrase that we used years ago with the onslaught of Japanese cars on the market. I hadn’t heard it in yonks (long unspecified time frame) until I saw it on Shana’s Datsun Cogs post and just had to use it, mainly for nostalgia.

My cramps have gone, my bowels have stopped moving. Well, they do when I go and get more coffee from the kitchen, they go with me, but in the traditional sense they have stabilised. So much so, that after class last night I went out for pizza and beer; without being a glutton about it, so far, so good. I have not felt the need to reenact Napoleon Blownaparte’s demise.

Fuzzy green tomatoes

Fuzzy green tomatoes

Tomatoes have breached the R$9kg price again. Takes them off the menu. But I have heart, the first small green blobs are developing on my more mature tomato plant.

I hope they aren’t as fuzzy when they are ripe.

The photographic blur is a direct result of not enough coffee.

I made another ‘find’ in the trash a couple of days ago. All the dark stained wooden pieces for a sizable table. It lacks the glass piece for the centre. Once I buy the screws necessary for reassembly I will visit an acquaintance who has a vidraçaria (glass & mirror) shop. It’s 140x90cm but not as high as a normal dining table 75cm. All I need to do now is decide where and how to put it and use it; a minor detail.

The sun is out. The neighbour’s cat has been in and eaten Clorinha’s biccies. Need more coffee.

So far my daily highlight has been discovering that one lemon had turned half brown and one potato has become ‘juicy’; both are now residing on the compost heap. I hate wasting food, but these were bought before I had the dreaded lurgy and stopped eating.

The upshot of having two dodgy bellies within three weeks is that I am back into my size 50 jeans, whereas I was using 54s. Makes a larger person almost hope for another dodgy belly; I am putting my 48s in the wash, just in case.

The dishes remain… well, they remain. I should go to the supermarket, as the polar bears in the fridge are complaining of starvation; I will be too, if I don’t.

The sun is in again.

I wrote a lovely comment on a blog post last night. Then I used it as a prelude to a reblog of that post on my blog Things that Fizz & Stuff. You may find it interesting as it is in part about my younger years and almost deserves a place here.

The sun is out again.

I suspect our celestial body is having a ‘bad hair day’.

It’s too early to practise my Nap-fu skills, so I will blog along.




I don’t have a small dongle


Google’s small dongle

Apparently Google does.

It’s a Chromcast thingy that you plug into your TV and gives you all sorts of wonderful thingies.

I bet it also gives Google all sorts of information about your viewing habits too, so they can direct appropriate advertisers in your direction.

I wouldn’t trust them an inch.

Remember, you are not the customer; you and your information are just their bait. The advertisers are the customers, you are just grist for their mill.

Since yesterday’s post I can’t get that song “Just another day in paradise” out of my head, it keeps playing through my subconscious at the oddest of moments.

Today is also, “Just another hot day in paradise”. They promised it would be cooler than yesterday, but I think not. They also promised rain in the late afternoon, let’s see.

bugle_bogus_wIt’s too hot to be blogging, although I have done my lot today, this is the past post of the day… Sounds of a battered old bugle far off in the imaginary distance.

I should be brief, so that I can anticipate beer o’clock.

So far today, apart from blogging, I have…


Watered (both me and the plants)


Thought about lunch, which has yet to materialise. But it will be quick and easy and involved salsicha (hotdogs again).


Yesterday, I had them fried in batter. Yes, I know that’s not good for the waistline, but it’s soul food, comfort food. You see deep fried battered hotdogs were sold at every fair when I was a kid, the taste is so nostalgic.

The beer truck has arrived, so has the need for haste.

Yesterday, I cooked four, but only managed three. The last was a bit of a burnt offering, so it finished up in the kitchen rubbish.

This morning the ragdoll cat from next door was in, tipped over the rubbish tin and ate the whole thing in the middle of the kitchen floor while I was blogging. I know he ate it there because of the grease spot. He treats my place is like some kind of restaurant.

Mine had no squirrel attached

Mine had no squirrel attached

The orange truck passed by this morning. No oranges. But he did have pineapples, 4 for R$5 (that’s about $2.20).

“No squirrel attached” was actually going to be the title of this post, but I felt that a small dongle had more appeal.

Important news, Flappy Bird is coming back!

Isn’t that exciting? <—- rhetorical question It was headline news today both in BBC and The Guardian.

Flappy-Bird-4I had no idea what a Flappy Bird was, I had to google it.

I am beside myself with excitement, I nearly wet my plants… again.

I am sure the world can live without Flappy Bird. Oh the inanity is mind-boggling. It is a game, for those of you lucky enough never to have heard of it, for an iPad where you have to keep tapping your screen to keep the bloody thing flapping.

More news on the Snowden front. You may/may not recall that he said all the big names, Yahoo, Apple, Google, Microsoft, Facebook and AOL knew about Prism, the US internet spying all the time; which they were all very quick to deny and sent them all spiraling into damage control mode. Turns out that a lawyer for NSA has told some investigating committee yesterday that they all knew, every sordid detail. Not only that but they cooperated fully with them.

Pack of lying bastards! They are all tarred with the same brush.

Nothing is safe nor sacrosanct in this world anymore.

The tinkling of beer bottles in their crates is getting to me…



I need a Leek

Not that kind of leak!

Not that kind of leak!

First a reblog of part of a post I wrote on Things that Fizz & Stuff today.

A little nostalgia:

When I was younger, my father grew leeks in the garden, lots of leeks; so they featured on our table simply as a boring boiled vegetable.

My mother was not an imaginative cook. Don’t get me wrong she cooked well, but plainly.

I hated leeks.

I would turn up my nose, gag, threaten to throw up at the table if they appeared on my plate, until the beastly things were removed.

I grew up, and now quite enjoy leeks, even raw in a salad.

There just a little info from my childhood.

beeroclockBeen a warm day and I have determined that the clock is nearing beer o’clock.

But before I go, you lovely people need to be entertained.

I went to work yesterday, despite not having the incentive; and it’s just as well I did, because the bossette turned up unexpectedly. I growled at her, her day is Wednesday and by turning up today she was confusing an old man, was she trying to hasten my demise?

I stopped growling when she reminded me that it was the 10th… pay day, and she’d come to pay me. I had totally forgotten that it was the 10th, that it was pay day; this is surely a sign that dementia is taking hold.

My pay packet should have looked like this…


But it was rather more meagre. Such is my worth. But I was right, she had under paid me! When I challenged her, she showed me her photocopies of the day sheets…

There was a day unsigned. I couldn’t understand it. I raced off to get my originals… and there it was signed! She had taken the copies a day early.

Having suitably humbled my bossette and her promising to rectify the matter, I returned to class, almost skipping as I went.

Well, time has marched on, beer o’clock has arrived, I’ll make like the pigeons and flock off.


A Lazy Sunday Afternoon

Not quite, the sun isn’t over the yardarm yet.

But reminded me of an oldie… Ah, nostalgia

The Small Faces from god knows when. (I discovered 1958)

Anybody remember them, just another flash in the pan*.

Congratulations on getting 10 total follows

Congratulations on getting 10 total follows

After all my grizzling about bloggers getting awardy stickery things from WordPress to mark milestones… I got one.

My new blog Some Animals are Crackers got a 10 followers one.

All is forgiven WordPress.

After my monthly phone call from my sister yesterday, during which we swapped ‘getting-a-new-kitten’ stories, she said hers was a Ragdoll Cat.

One Himalayan Ragdoll Cat

One Himalayan Ragdoll Cat, not Cloro, just an example

I have never heard of a Ragdoll Cat, so I googled it.

And, guess what? Cloro is a Ragdoll Cat, they are a species of cat (and dogs).

My pussy has a pedigree.

They are noted for their blue eyes and patches of colour on a basically white background. I just thought that Cloro’s blue eyes were a sign that she was taken from mummy too early.

I wonder in Cloro’s case, if she would not be a ‘Heralayan Ragdoll’? She is a girl after all.

I read a post on a blog complaining about copyright. This blogger had had some material brutally wrenched from her site and blog and reposted.

Personally, I don’t care if someone purloins/steals/robs/borrows my material, if it’s that good, they are welcome to it. Just goes to show that I am doing something right. But, I do like them to acknowledge the source, that makes it even better.

All these wars and things are bringing out the worst. American soldiers pissing on dead Taliban, Australians cutting hands off corpses, etc. This ‘trophy taking’ has happened throughout history. What drives man to these depths of depravity? It’s a very sad indictment on man.

Then there is the São Paulo case of the two robbers who were arrested for shooting a five yer old Bolivian boy while in his mother’s arms because he was crying too much during the robbery got themselves poisoned in jail by other inmates; to me, no great loss, but I bet the other two who are still on the run are shitting themselves.

Two flashes, one from the pan and one from the muzzle

Two flashes, one from the pan and one from the muzzle

*’flash in the pan’ ever wondered where that saying came from? The days of the old flintlock rifles.

Sometimes the powder in the pan under the frizzen would flash without setting off the main charge in the barrel, hence you just got a ‘flash in the pan’, or something of little consequence or shortlived. I have experienced this, I used to use flintlocks as part of my shooting days; it’s quite unnerving, when you brace yourself for the recoil and you just get a ‘whoosh’ and no ‘bang’.


A communal shat room

While waxing on the etymological. Brazilians are bad for determining the difference between ‘ch’ and ‘sh’ in English.

There is a TV ad at the moment that talks about Chat Rooms and they say ” We love, we share, we shat“… what, we shat yesterday? I explain to my students how ridiculous that sounds to a native speaker who understands ‘shat’ to be the colloquial past of the verb ‘to shit’.

Teaching and understanding your language can bring many interesting moments.


When I was younger, that was many moons ago, I had many adventures.

Today I was brought face to face with one of them.


An ignoble end to a noble bird

That was the caption: “The remains of the Pegasus in McMurdo Sound, Antarctica”

The plane shown is a C-121, in fact it was this plane.


In her better days.

I had flown in this plane.

As a kid, I was fascinated by planes. We lived within biking distance from the airport and that was where Kenny and I spent a lot of time on weekends watching planes, sometimes getting up to mischief, sometimes not as 12 year olds would do.

On one of these excursions we met the pilot of this plane, a Lieutenant Commander of the USN AirDevRon 6 which supplied the base in Antarctica. Through this meeting Phil Griffiths became a visitor to our home and my parents invited him several times to dinner.

After Phil went back Stateside, we eventually lost contact and I never knew what happened to him or his plane Pegasus, nor its sister, Phoenix.

This was a part of the adventure that lead me to school air cadets, and on to the air force, an association that lasted 21 years.

A nostalgic trip today.


Basking in Sunshine

british-weatherYes, in Rio de Janeiro, that’s what we normally do. We also do broiling, roasting, sweating in the sunshine.

I just read a headline that England is expected to be basking in the sunshine, now of course, for England this is news.

For Rio this is not news, it would be news if the beer ran out.

Yesterday I mentioned Prozac. It was a joke, I don’t need Prozac, I have coffee.

coffeeprozacBut I was surprised during the week to read that artists, musicians, writers, composers, philosophers consider that using Prozac heightens their experience and makes them more creative.

I get that with coffee, hell, if I took Prozac too, I’d be a creative blathering wreck; but then I am a blogger, what can I say? <—– Rhetorical question.

I had a thought…

But it escaped.

I need more coffee!

*pregnant pause*

Got coffee, thought returned. Warning, this is offensive – to Americans

Long ago there was no television, some of us remember those days… unfortunately. But, we did have radio. One of the radio programmes that I enjoyed was The Goon Show.

Now this programme is solid proof that Americans have no culture.

Most Britains understand the Goon humour without having to think about it, similarly Australians and New Zealanders.

This is due to understanding our culture.

Americans just look blankly and go WTF? See, absolutely no understanding of culture.

If you have the time, listen to this…


The Goon Show was one form of humour that could never be converted to television.

I used to have this LP (Long Player record, for those too young to remember LPs), in fact I had many of their LPs.

There, just a touch of nostalgia.

Must blog along.


I got up and had lunch

1956 De Soto the car I in which flexed my testosterone

Are you thinking what I think your are thinking?

I was up earlier, 5:30am, then I went back to bed about 9:30, so getting up to have lunch isn’t that bad. Actually, it was quite good. Two pieces of thin chicken breast quickly fried over lots of chopped garlic, the sauce was tomato extract straight into the same pan with liberal splashes of soya sauce, served with Parmesan cheese.

Last night, there was some sad news. Ronaldinho Gaucho, lately of Flamengo (my team) fame, but previously of international clubs and Brazil’s national team fame is not playing for Flamengo anymore. He started with the club with a hiss and a roar, but lately has sort of petered out. It is a sad day, because I consider that he, of all football (soccer) players, to iconic in the game. He started playing as a kid, always with a smile on his face, the smile never left.

My De Soto. In every boys’ life before he grows up he learns that cars are toys, that they no longer come in Matchbox size. I had many cars, but my love was the one above. That’s not mine, mine was all-cream coloured.

Just look at that ‘donk’ (motor), power at your finger tips. Not sure of the size of this one but the one in mine was a 380 cu in Dodge, it drank petrol (gasoline for our American cousins) for breakfast; but then in those days we could afford petrol.

But, what a toy to tinker with. In those days we had the luxury of space under the hood, not like today where it’s hard to even fit a hand inside there. I could sit on the fender and dangle my feet in the engine well while I worked in comfort.

The transmission was ‘Powerflite’ two stage auto. It was the first automatic I had driven, it was a dream.

Ah, the nostalgia…



No, not for the damned rooster… Saw my neighbour last night in the botequim (local bar) and joked with him about the rooster finding its way across his grill (yesterday’s post), he assured me not; a fact that I was assured of this morning albeit at a more reasonable hour. Apparently, it doesn’t like the rain, so I pray for rainy mornings and no cock-a-doodle-doos.

Yesterday afternoon my student (who is on holiday for two weeks) met me in the botequim to correct his homework, he brought along his guitar. I knew that he played one, determined through questions in class, but had no idea how well.

During the course of demonstrating his skills, he played O Trem das 7 horas (The Seven O’clock Train). Now this just happens to be one of my favourite pieces of Brazilian music. Originally performed by Raúl Seixas, Zê Ramalho’s version is better, at least imho. So I get to bore you with it

Nostalgic, because it is about the passing of an era. The arrival of the last steam train from the country. Here are the lyrics. Yes, I know, Portuguese, but I have added a translation to each line)

The album cover

Ói, ói o trem, vem surgindo de trás das montanhas azuis, olha o trem (Hey, hey the train, surging from behind the Blue Mountains)
Ói, ói o trem, vem trazendo de longe as cinzas do velho éon (Hey, hey the train, comes bringing from far the ashes of the past)

Ói, já é vem, fumegando, apitando, chamando os que sabem do trem (Hey, it’s here, smoking, whistling, calling those who know the train)
Ói, é o trem, não precisa passagem nem mesmo bagagem no trem (Hey, it’s the train, you don’t need tickets nor baggage on the train)

Quem vai chorar, quem vai sorrir? (Who cries, who smiles)
Quem vai ficar, quem vai partir? (Who stays, who goes)
Pois o trem está chegando, tá chegando na estação (Because the train is arriving, it’s arriving at the station)
É o trem das sete horas, é o último do sertão, do sertão (It’s the seven o’clock train, the last one from the back country)

That’s the gist of it.

Pure nostalgia, especially for those of us who remember the glory of steam and the sadness of its passing.

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